witchcraft in your lips
by moon strut
Summary: silently, he conquers. —kise&kuroko. for nora.


**dedication:** to nora; her writing is magical, and she ships kikuro as much as i do, and if you don't think she's absolutely amazing, you're wrong.  
**notes: **probably corny as hell. probably out of character too. oh well.

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i.

Kise confesses to him first.

He professes his not-really-love, more-than-a-crush attraction to him the same way he comments on how his eyes match the color of his hair—cotton candy blue.

"I like you, Kurokocchi."

_(Please go out with me.)_

And this has been said many times before, and Kise meant it every single time. But this one is different; it's in the way he looks at him with upturned lips and conviction in his eyes.

He doesn't get a reply—not for a while. Just blank stares and cute goldfish lips, and there is friction in the air when their silent questions clash.

Then: "Kise-kun."

And Kise doesn't even have time to hum a response when he is roughly pulled down by the necktie, and Kuroko's lips brush his cheek, leave fire on his skin.

His lips are dry but soft and speak his answer in volumes, and Kise continues to

fall

fall

fall

into those cloudy-sky eyes.

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ii.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Kise blinks, smiles. "It's fine," he says.

"It isn't."

"It's nothing, really."

He sits down in a sigh of sorts, waves it off. Kuroko follows.

"Does it hurt?"

"'Course not," he lies.

(It's not like Kuroko believes him, anyway.)

"You shouldn't be so careless going one-on-one with Kagami-kun. He still has trouble holding back."

"I don't need him to go easy! The ball hit my finger wrong, that's all," he insists.

Kuroko says nothing, just stares him down with unwavering resolve and takes Kise's hand in his own, all paper skin and slender fingers.

He presses his lips to him, replaces the dull ache with gentle kisses, and Kise swears he sees galaxies as Kuroko watches him with waxing moons in his powdery eyes.

"Does it still hurt, Kise-kun?"

"Yes," he lies.

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iii.

When Kise loses, his world is quiet.

There's not much to be said.

Not much to be done because—all that space is filled with silence. It makes breathing hard and walking harder. _Talking_ is harder. But.

Kuroko was never really one for words in the first place.

He drifts to Kise, careful, like treading on thin ice. Takes his fragile cheeks between cold, gentle hands and kisses the reddened skin where he has shackled his head, heavy with disappointment, to the cold lockers._  
_

He kisses the salt from his shut-tight eyes, kisses the furrow on his brow, kisses the streaks on his cheeks and corners of his downturned mouth.

And his lips say it all, though no words are spoken:

_It's okay._

_You did your best._

_This is not the end._

_Don't be sad._

_I am here with you._

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iv.

Kise didn't know Kuroko was the jealous type.

_No one_ knew Kuroko was the jealous type.

That is, until.

Kise is a model and a gifted athlete, and Kise is popular (especially with girls), and Kuroko knows—he knows well.

He gets it. It is unavoidable though undesirable, and he knows.

Still.

There are persistent girls who crowd around Kise where _he_ should be standing and girls who touch his skin the way _he_ touches him and—

it is not okay.

But the worse of all is his smile.

His _smile_.

_His_ smile.

It is noon, and Kise is spirited away by a phantom boy behind the gymnasium.

Something is wrong. He doesn't say something is wrong, but it's there in the way his hands are shaking and his eyes—his eyes are snowstorms, and Kise is

buried

buried

buried

in his avalanche.

Then: he kisses him hard, tip-toed and snake-like arms wrapped tight around his neck.

_You are mine_, his kisses say. His eyes say.

It is the first time Kuroko bites him hard, licks him harder, and presses even closer.

It is noon, and—

Kise is buried.

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v.

On his hands and knees in a merciless court of warriors, Kise falls.

And in those split seconds as the clock is ticking, Kuroko stands, flickers dimly like a star in the distance, overwhelmed by city lights. But Kise knows that starlight like he knows that head of hair—cotton candy blue. And he knows that voice.

"Kise-kun!"

No words are needed, just hardened lips pressed against a simple ring—that is anything _but_ a simple ring.

_I believe in you._

Kise smiles, stands, kisses his own ring like he kisses his lips.

_Thank you._

A faint blue star shines when Kise wins.

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End file.
